Before we get back to London, a few snaps from a whirlwind work trip through what is, for the time being at least, the EU. First stop, Brussels, the supposed capital of a completely dysfunctional collection of bickering neighbors.
Nifty square, the product of that legendary Benelux work ethic. No wonder the good folks of Brussels are rather loathe to bail out their profligate neighbors down on the Mediterranean. Why should they get the beach and the bailout?
The streets around the old square glow invitingly with the promise of beer and chocolate, in no particular order.
And with that, it's on to the next stop, namely the quiet canals of Amsterdam. Since the days when stockbroking and Amsterdam's coffee shops went hand in hand have gone the way of the Boom Boom Room, Rock's scenic tour is not quite as, uhm, scenic as it might otherwise have been...
Back in Olde London Towne for a weekend of exploring the Second Greatest City on Earth. First stop is of course the requisite London Eye experience, brought to you by some no-name electricity company since evidently British Airways can no longer afford the naming rights plus the latest extravagant union demands.
Best seat in the house.
The House of Parliament still stands, despite Guy Fawkes' best efforts. Back then if you were a terrorist you got a holiday named after you. Seems sentiment has shifted a little since then.
The whole rotation actually takes quite a while. Which leaves plenty of time for posing and taking pictures of the aforementioned Parliament House.
If you look hard enough you can see Cameron and Co. laughing at those hapless Europeans across the channel. The Pound Sterling never looked so good.
In the shadow of greatness. After all, Mei is in one of the capsules.
The Shard is coming along nicely. Apparently it will be the tallest building in the European Union when complete. A claim that will need to be rather quickly revised should that august institution go the same way as Papandreou's credibility.
Beating up the French is always a good reason to name a subway station. Then again, if everyone followed that philosophy there probably wouldn't be enough subway stations to go around.
Borough Market has become the must-see foodie destination in the British Isles. There's something about an old collection of railway bridges that brings out the flavor in that organic, fair trade, farm-to-table chai latte you're about to sip.
Proper Fish & Chips apparently. As opposed to improper fish and chips, which is probably what Europeans eat.
Looks quite proper to me: crispy golden brown batter, a generous scoop of crunchy chips, and a bottle of tomato sauce to wash it all down.
Shane Warne is a shoe in for the Pieministership, especially now that he has shacked up with Liz Hurley.
The sights and sounds of Borough Market are not nearly as interesting as the tastes.
Who would have thought organic could look this good?
Three quid?! Come on, don't think of it as just a tea, think of it as a path to empowerment for an entire village.
Curry in a hurry. You better be hungry when you hit this market.
Warning, warning, incoming hipsters!
The line for the legendary Monmouth Coffee stretches around the corner. Is it worth it?
Still waiting for the answer half an hour later.
It's good, but is it worth a half hour wait? Probably not, but hey, that's part of the experience. If there's nothing to complain about there's nothing to blog about.
Did they really need to pick a Bernie Madoff impersonator to front their well meaning but easily misinterpreted ad campaign? How long before someone pencils in the Goldman Sachs logo?
Canary Wharf, last bastion of the 1%. And likely to remain a bastion too, since none of the protesters are daft enough to venture out onto a windswept slab of concrete in the middle of the Thames.
Greenwich, best known as the G in GMT.
Unfortunately, with the Cutty Sark under repair, there's not a whole lot to see, so time to fire up the Oyster cards en route to the next stop.
Camden Town, a once a gritty industrial suburb that has been transformed into a hip network of markets and converted condos perched on picturesque canals.
See, you can tell it's cool by the way the O looks like an on button.
Royal Albert Hall. Looks suspiciously like Carnegie Hall, except round.
Imperial College London. Everything sounds cooler with the word Imperial in it. Like Imperial Star Destroyer for example.
The Natural History Museum. When the outside of the museum is a work of art in itself, you know Manhattan's Museum Mile has some stiff competition.
Harrods gears up for the holiday season. Nothing like Russian oil money and Chinese property money to get sales off to a brisk start.
Mei's long lost cousin Fei Fei Zhu.
Another expensive store that Rock won't be setting foot in. Now Mei, that's a different story...
No way, it's Tatlin's Monument to the Third International! For a Futurist aficionado like Rock, this is a rare treat indeed. Almost as good as the cannoli from the pâtisserie up the road.
It wouldn't be a World City without a Chinatown.
The streets around Covent Garden come to life after dark. Unlike Rock.
Nice wheels. Sure beats the manual, shoebox-on-wheels Vauxhall that Rock had to pilot around the English countryside.
The big dude himself.
The streets around Whitehall remind one that London's prosperity has come at a mighty cost. And not the subprime type either.
Is that an All Black jersey I spy? With the mighty All Blacks hanging on against an unrelenting French assault in the dying minutes of the Rugby World Cup, there's more than a few black jerseys floating around London on this fine autumn morning.
They just don't build stuff like they used to. They don't really write like they used to either. Especially in this newfangled blogosphere.
The stunning St. Pancras Station, once the home of glory days of British steam, has been transformed into the sleek departure point for the Eurostar train that breezes you to London in the time you'd usually spend getting a full cavity exam at airport security.
Bring on 2012!
Cartwright Gardens, even the name conjures up images of high teas and dainty white gloves. If it was any more British it would have a knighthood.
